Jewels of the Realms
by Dorian Herestor
Summary: Drabbles and short fics about some of BJTs characters, including those of The Shadow Queen/ Shalador's Lady. Ideas are always nice. Rated T just to be over safe. Can't go wrong with T. R&R!
1. The Pet

**It's summer, it's hot, it's school vacation, and I have nothing to do. Written mostly out of boredom.**

**Disclaimer: Really, does anyone actually read the "Disclaimer"? *sighs* All right, here it goes: I don not own anything, every character belongs to Anne Bishop, I'm just borrowing thm for a little while.**

**Hope you memorised that because I am not doing that again.**

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><p><strong>The Pet<strong>

He loved his son. He really did. But, at the moment, looking at the black, shinny animal wobbling idly across his pristinely cleaned kitchen floor, making little cricket sounds, he didn't like the little beast very much.

Hell's Fire, Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful, how the Hell was he going to tell his darling hearth witch that her son, Daemonar, had brought his new pet dung beetle home?

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><p><strong>R&amp;R,please.<strong>

**Ideas would be good.**


	2. New Toy

**New Toy**

Daemon Sadi, the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, the most powerful male in the Realm, looked down at the happy, happy Sceltie jumping up and down by his feet, and tried not to wince.

Too bad, he winced anyway.

Locked tightly between the Sceltie's jaws was the reason for his…er…state.

It looked like a cucumber…except that it wasn't. It wasn't vegetable, it was leather. It wasn't his, so who…He didn't want to know. Every time those little jaws bit the…thing, his hands slid deeper into his pants pockets, while his mind desperately tried to come up with something to say.

_I_ _live a world where things like this happen!_

Behind him, his lovely wife, his sister-in-law, and his cousin literally rolled on the floor, laughing their heads off at the Scelties' new toy.

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><p><strong>I know, more a ficlit than a drabble... Damn you, 100-word-max drabble law! Anyway...<strong>


	3. The Consequences of Fussing

**The Consequences of Fussing**

He looked at the woman who was not only his Queen, but also the love of his life and the mother of his soon to be born child.

Then, he looked at the big, sharp kitchen knife she was menacingly holding.

Then he glared at the tray laying on the table between them, caring a big, fat carrot.

He glanced at his wife, then at the knife, then at the carrot; again at his wife, then the knife, then finally the carrot. He swallowed.

Perhaps he'd been fussing over her too much.

With a frightfully wicked grin across her beautiful lips, his darling wife raised the knife above her head, and brought it down with all her might. The carrot lost its tip, and he tried to suffocate a wince. And failed.

Satisfied with his reaction, she repeated the same painful operation dozens of times, until the once long carrot was nothing more than a dozen orange wheels.

Maybe he had taken fussing a little too far.

Finally, she leaned over the table, as far as her swollen belly permitted, and pointing the knife manacling at him, she snarled:

"Chaosti. Need. I. Say. More?"

He swallowed. He shook his head. Yes, he had defiantly fussed over her too much.

Chaosti, the Gray Jewels Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon, Consort and husband to Gabrielle, ran from his wife, for his penis sake.

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><p><strong>Uff, that was a long one! Yes, I did a Chaosti story! Guilty for loving him!<strong>

**R&R!**


	4. Interest

**Interest**

Across the crowded room, their eyes met. Linked.

Tall and dark, with a handsome, sharp-boned face that fitted well with his well-toned body, dark hair and dark eyes, the colors of Shalador's people. Her people.

A dark Jeweled male. An Opal Jeweled Warlord Prince. A warrior. A natural predator. A killer. Most of all, a survivor.

She watched him cross the tavern, his step confident and graceful, his eyes never leaving hers. She saw in those dark eyes the same interest and curiosity she knew he could see in hers. What she didn't see – which surprised her, scared her – was the hatred she saw in most men when they realized she was a black widow. No such emotion in that man, only interest, curiosity, and a strange pull.

"Hello, Lady." He said when he reached her table, bowing to her as if she were a Queen and not a lighter Jewel Black Widow/Healer.

"Prince." She responded in the same fashion.

"I noticed you across the room." He said with a smile. A good smile. He extended his hand. " My name is Ranon."

She took it. "Shira."

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><p><strong>Ranon and Shira are so cute together!<strong>

**As always, reviews and ideas are welcome!**

**Go by me, there is nothing a fanfic writer loves more than getting reviews!**


	5. Dance of Life

**Dance of Life**

The musicians played, and the Lords and Ladies of the Shadow Realm danced. They celebrated Witch.

Chaosti and Gabrielle, the Children of the Woods, were a silver glow in the dance floor, their steps lithe and graceful beyond the abilities of the other races. Morghann and Khary, hand to hand, danced what seemed to be a mixture between traditional Scelt folk dance and their own personal steps. Amid the two pairs, Aaron and Kalush switched between Nharkhava and Dharo court dances, Kalush smiling lovingly every time her consort swirled her around.

Above them, little Katrine and her Consort danced their tiny, adorable steps in an invisible dance floor, next to the Fyreborn dragons and the kindred – both canine and feline - that did their own air show. The centaur's and the unicorn's dance was simple and yet complex, and the satyrsenjoyed in traditional tap-dancing. And after much cohesion, Morton persuaded Karla to join the others, and now they moved in tune with the rhythm, their moves hard and sharp, much like Glacia itself.

And in the center of the dance floor, were Jaenelle and Lucivar. Their steps were both quick and slow, sensual and deadly graceful. Lucivar didn't know, but he was dancing the oldest dance of them all: the dance of Witch. And he was doing surprisingly well.

And, in a corner of the room, Andulvar, Prothvar, Mephis, Geoffrey, Draca, and Saetan himself, did what the Guardians and demon-dead had done since the beginning of the Blood: they stood and watched the living dance with life.

"Quite an interesting First Circle, don't you think, Steward of the Dark Court?" teased Andulvar, at his side.

Saetan refused to take the bait. "Yes, it is, Master of the Guard." _And may the Darkness be merciful to whoever gets in their way._

Somewhere in the middle of the third song, Kalush gently drifted away from Aaron, stepping aside for Sabrina. Saetan watched her cross the dance floor, looking simply adorable in her salmon colored dress, and come to a halt in front of him, blushing a sweetly shade of pink.

"High Lord." She greeted, in her lovely voice, her eyes half cast down.

He bowed to the Queen. "Lady Kalush."

She blushed violently. Mother Night, how he wanted to pinch her cheeks!

"I saw you all alone." She said, in a shy whisper. "I wonder… could you dance with me, High Lord?"

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. He opened his mouth to say that dance belonged to the living, but he found he couldn't voice the words. No-one had stopped dancing, but all seemed to be watching, waiting for his answer.

Finally, Saetan SaDiablo took Kalush's hand and placed a soft kiss on its back.

"It would be my pleasure, Lady."

As he made his way to the dance floor, he received glances of pride, acceptance and love from the children he considered half his own.

Maybe, just maybe, he could dance with the living. For them.

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><p><strong>My God, that was a long one! *wipes sweat from her forehead*<strong>

**Dedicated to lethe2011, who so kindly reads everything I write about BJT, and who gave me the hint of doing something with Saetan and Kalush. **

**I wrote this at 4.30 a.m., so forgive me if I forgot someone, ok?**


	6. CHATP

**Careful Handling and a Temporary Precaution**

Someone knocked on his door. Saetan didn't even bother to probe the hallway for an identification. The physic scent on the other side was unmistakable.

"Come in, Prince."

It was Chaosti, the Dea al Mon Warlord Prince, who walked in with his usual feline grace, his boots making no sound whatsoever on the parquet floor. For a second, Saetan fought against the territorial instincts that came naturally to Warlord Princes, and watched Chaosti do the same. It was _his_ study, _his_ territory, he reminded himself, no matter what, _he_ was in charge. Which didn't prevent Chaosti from stepping up to the line with all the arrogance of his caste.

"You sent for me, High Lord?" he asked.

"Yes. Sit down."

The Dea al Mon promptly obeyed.

On the other side of the desk, Saetan studied the young male who reminded him too much of himself. Not a boy anymore, he decided - not that he had ever considered Chaosti _a boy_ – now a young male, a fine, fine young male, and, most important of all, a strong, lethal Warlord Prince. Even now, when he was relaxed and easy, there was something wild about Chaosti, something that had all the other males stand on their guard, and wearing the Gray, there were only a handful of people in the Realm that could challenge him and survive. It was a wonderful, terrifying thought, and part of the reason why he'd summoned the young Warlord Prince.

"How is your relationship with Gabrielle?" Saetan asked smoothly. "Everything going well, still having fun?"

If Chaosti had any thoughts at all about the strange question, he didn't show it.

"Yes, we're good."

"Hum." He leaned back on his chair, and joined his fingertips. He studied Chaosti's reaction to the next question. "Have you had sex?"

A barely visible flinch. A faint coloring of the cheeks. Other than that, Chaosti's posture remained the same, his voice cool as always.

"I accompanied her through her Virgin Night, as you well know, and with all due respect, High Lord, what happened after that is none of your business. "

Saetan fought a grin. Not what he'd expected. Unfortunately… "You're wrong, Prince. It is my business. Gabrielle is a very powerful witch and a strong Queen."

"I'm aware of that." Chaosti replied.

"She was able to hold Mistral in mid-air after an exhausting day of healing. A Lady like that needs a very careful handling from everyone, especially from her Consort."

"I know."

Saetan nodded. "Good." Next, he called a flask containing a golden liquid and a piece of paper. "This is for you." he said.

Curious, Chaosti unscrewed the flask. Sniffed. A silver eyebrow lifted over a forest-blue eye. "A contraceptive brew." Next, he read the piece of paper. "And it's recipe." He looked at Saetan, confusion plain on his fair face. "Why?"

Saetan leaned forward, and locked his golden eyes with Chaosti's forest-blue. "Because, my darling, you are the second most powerful living Warlord Prince in Kaeleer, who is romantically involved with a female who happens to be the third most powerful Queen in the Realm, and a Black Widow and a Healer, and you are both Dea al Mon. Take this brew as a temporary precaution, because the whole Realm needs a few years to prepare itself for a miniature you. And so do you."

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><p><strong>Again dedicated to lethe2011, who sugested a ficlet with Saetan and Chaosti concerning the little chat they might have had after Saetan realised how powerful Gabrielle was in Hair to the Shadows.<strong>

**Chaosti 4 ever!**


	7. Tea

**Tea**

They stood side by side in the middle of the eerie's kitchen, and refused to look at each other.

"Jaenelle?"

"Yes, Marian?"

"Can I ask you something?"

A light, imperceptible flinch. Sigh. "Go ahead, Marian."

"Er…You are a natural Healer, right?"

Another flinch, followed by another, stronger, sigh. "Right."

"Not only are you a Healer, you are the best Healer in Kaeleer. You make tonics and infusions like no other. You make tonics that actually taste good."

Next to her, Jaenelle cringed. "That's right, Marian."

Then Marian pointed at the stove, where a kettle stood with little flames dancing on the uncovered top.

"So how in Hell did you burn tea?"

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><p><strong>Based on personal experience. Well, I didn't actually set the tea fire, but yeah, it tasted pretty burnt.<strong>

**Thank you for all the reviews!**


	8. Single Life

**Single Life**

The Hall shook.

In one of its many the libraries, Surreal shifted her body to a more comfortable position, and sighed. On her lap laid the book Jaenelle had pushed her into reading when she had first arrived at the Hall to spend the weekend. It was what Lucivar called a snuffle book, and what she called fem-trash. The kind where the main character, a shy, lonely and homely owner of an antiques store falls madly in love with a dashing and mysterious rascal with a _tragic_ and _angst_ _filled past_, that knows how to cry and makes love like an animal. Yes, that kind of story, the kind that Jaenelle and Marian were, for some obscure reason, mad about.

The Hall shook again. Surreal paid it no notice, and flipped through the pages.

After about a thousand pages of absolutely nothing of interest, the poor, stupid girls, who meanwhile had married the dashing stud with the angst filled past, was now rambling through five hundred pages about how wonderfully wonderful it was to _finally_ be married to the dashing male, how the honeymoon had been so wonderful and romantic and how she and her new husband had made hot, steamy, sweaty sex through the sunset, night and beyond; about all the wonderful breakfasts in bed and all that mushy gooey stuff that turned her stomach. The joys of marriage, and all of that.

The Hall shook for the third time. Angry tension filled the air. Two angry, craft-enhanced voices, a male and a female, could be heard shouting through the walls, but not clearly enough for her to ascertain the topic of the argument. The sound of something fragile and undoubtedly expensive shattering followed.

Ah, the joys of marriage, right?

On the rug, next to her, Graysfang whimpered, and began to rise, only to be stopped by a commanding and unyielding foot on his neck.

"You don't want to go in there, sugar," she said calmly. "Not while they are at it, believe me."

*But the Lady…*

"…Will be fine. Daemon would never hurt her and Jaenelle knows how to deal with pissed off males just fine." And she did not want to end up having to scrape little Graysfang bits from the walls.

Then, without no warning whatsoever, the tension caused by two tempers clashing with each other, gave place to another type of tension entirely, that swept through the Hall like wildfire, except that no wildfire burnt with that kind of sexual heat. Hadn't she been a whore for centuries, Surreal would have blushed.

Graysfang whined. She sighed in annoyance.

Damn Daemon had forgotten to cast a shield around Jaenelle's room. She could almost hear the bedsprings go _glink_, along with other equally interesting sounds.

One minute they were ready to bite each others' heads off, the next they were rolling in bed.

And they wondered why she didn't have, or want, a man in her life.

Sighing, Surreal put the book down and, followed by the kindred wolf, caught the fastest Wind to the Keep, where she knew she would be safe.

Say all you want about the wonders and joys of married life. Single life was a damn mile easier.

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><p><em>A little OOC, maybe. I have no idea if Surreal likes fem-trash or not, but for the sake of this ficlet, she doesn't.<em>

_I have nothing against fem-trash or marriage, I just think they are not for me._

_Oh, and I find myself completely devoided of ideas so PLEASE give me some, okay? Please? *puppy eyes*_


	9. Choices

_Timeline: The High Lord's Daughter, Twilight's Dawn_

_Possible spoilers for those who haven't read Anne Bishop's last book_

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><p><strong>Choices<strong>

Life was all about choices.

Some choices were simply natural. Eat or starve. Drink or die. Sleep or don't sleep. Kill or be killed. Simple laws of nature and desires of the flesh that were beyond anyone's control.

Some choices were simply unnerving. Meat or fish. Soup or salad. Brandy or wine. Left or right. Mystery novel or really bad fem-trash. The red one or the blue. The kind of insignificant stuff that people wrecked their brains over every day.

Some choices were hard. Kill or let live. Whore on the streets or die. Terrielle or Kaeller. Family or the loneliness of the bad old days. Those could change your life.

And some were just damn near impossible. Keep the baby, or miscarry. Tell him, or not. Trust him, or not. Stay or flee. Die later, or die now.

Everything was about choices. Some you just have to make, no matter what.

Hours after saying yes to Daemon, looking out from the window of her "unofficial" cell for the next ten month of her pregnancy, Surreal SaDiablo realized that making the choices was not the problem. No, the problem was living with them.

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><p><em>Inspired by Blood Cocoa's Either or, a Discworld drabble featuring Angua von Uberwald, inserted in the author's drabble collection Drabbling with Drabbles. A must read for every Discworld fan. Sorry, darling, but I couldn't resist doing this. So sorry.<em>

_Thanks to lethe2011, for always liking my stories, for some obscure reason._


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